As a senior in high school, I was unsure of where I was headed in life. I’d spent the majority of the previous four years deeply invested in my school’s magazine and was wondering whether journalism was really my calling.
I wanted to expand, to explore. I’d been in a serious committed relationship for a third of a decade, and I needed to branch out. I needed to see if I was settling, if I had become comfortable and was now getting lazy. So I got out. I applied early decision to SESP as a Learning and Organizational Change major, and I was accepted.
I figured I could still write for a campus publication and keep journalism in my life if I wanted to. I figured I would be choosing a more practical career choice; have you heard how much money consultants make?
I planned ahead for everything. Everything, that is, except missing the writing. And the fantastic interviews. And the creative page designs. And the hectic deadlines.
A few weeks into fall quarter, I began to regret not having applied directly to Medill. The feeling began as a small stitch in my side, and I ignored it for a little while. But then I realized if I disregarded it any longer, it might fade a little, but it was more likely that it would just result in a dull, constant pain all over my body.
Confronting my parents about my dilemma was one of the most difficult parts of realizing I had to make a change. I didn’t want them to think I was a flake, wanting to switch my major less than halfway into my first quarter of college. But becoming a high-flying consultant wasn’t something I could see for myself, and writing was something I missed to an almost physical extent.
My parents backed me up, though. They knew how much I wanted it and they supported me in my decision. I talked to all the right people and figured out that attempting to get into Medill would require the mental abilities of a circus performer: the number of flaming hoops I’d have to face was daunting, but I thought I was up to the challenge.
But I went through with it, and now I’m almost halfway through. It’s a painful process; wrenching myself from the warm, welcoming office of my SESP adviser and forcing my way into the elite, exclusive halls that are Medill.
What could make this horrible experience worth it? Why am I trying to barge my way into a school that so many of my peers complain about?
The answer is name recognition. Medill’s got it, and I want it.
Just kidding.
The truth is, I’m a journalist, through and through. All through high school, I lived deadline to deadline. I worked my way through the ranks of my school’s monthly magazine, from writer to sports editor, finally earning the coveted position of editor in chief. I lived and breathed that magazine for three full years, and when I got to senior year, I panicked.
So we’ve come full circle. I’m fighting my way through the masses, once again, trying to prove that I’ve got what it takes and hoping I’m being noticed by someone.
I won’t lie – it’s a difficult process. Sometimes it’s frustrating as hell and other times, it just plain hurts. But I’m forcing my way through it and I can already feel my regret fading.
And this is only the beginning. Being an inter-school transfer student is almost as bad, if not worse, than transferring between institutions. Not being on the listserv is bad enough, let alone not being able to pre-register. The list of negatives goes on, but there are a few good things about being on the outside, too.
Want to know what they are? I guess you’ll have to stay tuned to find out.